Flash Fiction 8/24/2010 - Guilt

Entry for "Daily Flash Fiction Challenge" 

Prompt: Write a story that includes the words: sunglasses, bicycle, pillow



Guilt

         Roused from a sleeping reverie in the middle of the night, I clutched my pillow tight. The suburban world around me swam in frustratingly unpredictable patterns as I slowly regained composure. Every night. Every single night for six years. The same dream. It starts off innocently enough, a midday stroll through the city streets. The world below strewn with the waste of the world, the sky above framed cleanly by the monolithic edifices with not a cloud in sight. She isn't supposed to be there, but she always is. No matter how serene the world seems, she is always there. Wearing her too big sunglasses in bright daylight, taunting me. I tried. I tried so hard. I told myself it was an accident. I told myself the jury was right, it wasn't my fault. But they were wrong.

         My mind, no matter how hard I tried would not forgive myself. Once I was fully awake, I took my bicycle out of the garage guided only by the moon. I left my house and looked straight ahead. I rode to the end of my street and turned left. I exited my neighborhood and rode on. I pedaled along the highway in the cool night air. I entered the countryside while the sun shone through the hills. I glided through a field as the dew began to shine. I went up a hill all covered in grass. I rode on the top on the flat earth ground. I turned towards the place where the dirt would end. I drove to the place where the sky began. The sky began and ended quick.

         They found me days later all crumpled and red, but hark, dear reader, I was already dead.



Word Count: 288